His Christmas Countess

by Louise Allen

  ‘The first post, my lord.’ Grimswade proffered a salver.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take these off to the study and deal with them.’ He stood as he spoke, the letters in one hand, one with the distinctive handwriting of his solicitor’s head clerk on the top.

  He broke the seal as soon as the door was closed behind him and drew out the letter from Martin enclosed in the wrapper.

  Lord Baybrook spent a week as the guest of Sir Henry Harding, baronet, at his estate, Belchamps Hall, in the parish of Hawkwell, Essex, in the period specified. I am unable, as yet, to provide you with details of Sir Henry’s character and means, but I am able to confirm that he is a married man with a sister named Catherine Jane Penelope.

  I have sent my assistant by this evening’s mail coach to Rayleigh, the nearest town, with instructions to discover as much as possible of Sir Henry’s situation within the day.

  Grant reached for Cary’s road book from the shelves beside the desk and opened it on the map of southern England. Hawkwell was apparently too small to be shown, but if it was close to Rayleigh, it was also close to Southend. Not more than five or so miles, he estimated by eye. If Kate was going to Southend, then he was going to Rayleigh.

  *

  The steamer was an adventure, at least for Charlie, who was so thrilled that he was rendered speechless, although not still. Mr Gough got Kate, Jeannie, Wilson and the baby settled in the warm shelter of the first-class saloon with Giles the footman to watch over them and was then towed from one end of the vessel to the other by his charge. Kate knew this because, with great regularity, Charlie would erupt into the saloon, compose himself with an effort and inform her of some riveting fact concerning the engines or the weight of coal consumed or the potential speed of the ship, then rush out again to interrogate some unfortunate seaman.

  ‘It is very comfortable compared to a coach,’ Kate remarked to Wilson, who was sitting bolt upright clutching her mistress’s dressing case on her knees and eyeing their fellow travellers with suspicion.

  ‘Indeed, my lady, although what it would be like on the open sea may be another matter.’

  ‘Yes, I am not sure about venturing to Margate,’ Kate admitted. ‘I have no idea whether I would be seasick or not.’

  But the saloon was comfortable, the company, if rather varied, was respectable enough and the speed was astonishing. Kate looked out of the nearest porthole at the passing river scene and told herself that everything was going to be all right. Henry would be at home and he would see reason about stopping his extortion. He might even be persuaded to pay the money back, although Kate was far less confident about that. But the main thing was to make him stop his criminal activity and write assuring Jonathan that he would hear no more from him.

  Then, when there was no longer a crime involved, she could confess everything to Grant and just hope and pray that he would understand. In broad daylight when she was feeling strong, she was confident, but in the small hours, as she lay awake fretting about everything from him working too hard to the loss of his faith in her, she could not help but recall his words.

  I am just saying, for the record, that I will call out any man who lays a finger on you—and do my damnedest to kill him. And if your Jonathan had abandoned you and not drowned, then I would go after him and kill him, too. What if he called Jonathan out for failing to marry her? But, heartbroken as she had been at the time, if he had married her they would surely be in an unhappy marriage now, she would never have met Grant—and it was Grant she loved. And Grant who, one day, might love her.

  *

  It was only when the hired chaise was bowling across the flat farmlands around Hawkwell that Kate began to think uneasily about Henry’s reaction. What, exactly, would her brother do with a sister who turned up, exceedingly inconveniently, and threatened to crack the golden egg he was relying on? She had nothing to threaten him with to make him do the right thing and she would not put it past him to lock her in the attic while he thought out his tactics. It was not as though he had ever expressed any affection for her after all.

  She had left Charlie and Anna with Jeannie and Mr Gough at the Ship Inn, but she had not told either of them where she was going, which, in retrospect, was not sensible. She had said nothing last night as they settled into the accommodation—now she knew she should at least have taken Jeannie into her confidence. The lowlying pastureland looked sodden and depressing as she stared out of the window, biting her lower lip as she thought.

  ‘Giles, when I go into the house I am visiting, I will take Wilson with me, of course. I would like you to remain in the carriage. Let the window down a crack and then you will hear the church clock. It strikes the quarters. If I am not out within an hour, or if I do not send you a note with my name underlined, then I want you to go to Mr Gough with all speed and ask him to come here and demand to see me. He is to take no excuses, do you understand?’

  Giles looked appalled. ‘My lady, my lord would have my hide if he thought I had let you walk into somewhere dangerous!’

  ‘It is not dangerous, exactly. I certainly would not take Wilson with me if it were, but the owner may want me to stay against my will.’

  ‘I’ve got a hatpin,’ the maid said darkly. ‘And I’ll use it. No one will hurt my lady if I have anything to do with it. You do as you’re told, Giles.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Wilson.’ The personal maid to the lady of the house easily outranked a mere footman. It seemed that Giles was more in awe of her than he was of his mistress. ‘I’ll listen, like you say, my lady, never fear.’

  Kate felt easier with some precautions in place, even though she was probably being completely melodramatic and the worst that might happen was that Henry would laugh in her face and throw her out. And if that happens, she resolved as the chaise drew into the courtyard in front of Belchamps Hall, then I am telling Grant everything.

  Leaving Giles anxiously listening for the clock, Kate marched up to the front door and beat a tattoo with the knocker. The heavy oak door creaked open and she found herself face-to-face with Claridge, the butler.

  He said stolidly. ‘Yes, ma’am?’

  ‘Claridge, do you not recognise me? Miss Catherine.’ She took a step forward as he gaped at her. ‘Where is Sir Henry?’

  The butler gave way before her, but he still looked utterly taken aback. ‘In…in his study, Miss Catherine. But—’

  ‘You were not expecting me, quite. And it is Lady Allundale now, Claridge. There is no need to announce me, I know my way.’ Strangely she felt confidence flooding back as she smiled at the butler. She was here to fight dragons, defeat them for the sake of her love and her happiness. She lifted her chin, set back her shoulders, lifted her imaginary sword.

  ‘Yes, miss. I mean, my lady.’

  He stepped aside, jaw working as though he was searching for words, and went along the familiar panelled hallway, past the foot of the stairs and the great carved banister rail she used to slide down on her tummy when she was a child. They passed the door into the sunny front parlour, where she would sit and sew with her sister-in-law, and up to the door to Henry’s study, not a place in which the women of the household were welcome.

  ‘Make Miss Wilson comfortable if you please, Claridge.’

  She entered on her knock and almost stopped dead in surprise. The old gloomy study Henry had inherited from their father had been swept away. Now it was freshly painted and boasted a handsome mahogany desk and chairs in the latest style, new bookcases and an array of books in fine leather bindings. The window had been converted into French doors leading out on to the rear terrace, and as she came in, she saw Henry standing there, the door ajar, apparently letting some chill fresh air into the stuffy room.

  ‘Madam?’ He blinked at her and she realised that for a moment he did not recognise her with her smart clothes and the gemstones winking in her earlobes. ‘Catherine?’

  ‘Good afternoon, Henry.’ She sat down in the chair opposite the desk, laid her reticule and ti
ghtly rolled umbrella on the glossy new leather surface and smiled warmly at him. ‘What a handsome study, it must have cost you a pretty penny.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ He stalked from the window and stood clutching the back of his chair. ‘Where in Hades have you been?’

  ‘Oh, living my life.’ Kate pulled off her gloves, slowly, finger by finger, as she looked around. ‘While you have been accumulating the pretty pennies, it seems. What else have you been spending the money on, Henry? Oh, and I would love a cup of tea. And perhaps one of those delicious scones Mrs Hobhouse always used to make.’

  He was so taken aback that he yanked the bell pull without arguing. Claridge must have been standing right outside the door. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Tea. Scones.’ Henry flapped a hand at him and sat down. ‘What are you doing here? And where did you get those clothes and those jewels?’ He flung himself back in the chair and laughed. ‘Oh, I see. You’ve found yourself a cosy little niche as some man’s ladybird, have you? You’re cleverer than I thought if you’ve fallen on your feet that way. Or should I say, on your back?’

  ‘Don’t be coarse, Henry.’ Kate took the little silver case from her reticule and tossed a card across the desk to him. ‘My husband would not appreciate it.’

  He picked up the card and stared at it, the pasteboard creasing in his grip. ‘Lady Allundale? Lady Allundale? How the devil? He knows about the brat?’

  ‘What brat would that be, Henry? My husband’s daughter?’

  He stared at her. ‘You couldn’t have convinced him it was his, you were too far gone when you ran off.’

  Claridge came in, placed a tray on the desk in front of Kate. ‘Thank you, Claridge, that will be all. Tea, Henry?’ she asked sweetly as the door closed.

  ‘Damn the tea.’ He watched, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, while she poured herself a cup, taking her time. She pretended to hesitate over a choice of scones until he demanded, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’ve come about the blackmail, Henry. It has to stop.’

  ‘What blackmail?’ He tried to look haughty and affronted.

  ‘Don’t pretend, Henry. You have been extorting money from Lord Baybrook. It is immoral, illegal and probably dangerous. His father-in-law won’t live for ever and when he dies Baybrook is going to be a very rich man.’ She took a sip of tea and was proud that her hand was rock-steady. ‘Rich enough to take revenge on you in any way he chooses. Legal or illegal.’ Was it her imagination, or had Henry gone pale?

  ‘What do you want?’

  His immediate move to negotiation made her wary. She had expected counter-threats, or, at the least, bluster. ‘For you to stop demanding money. Write to Baybrook, tell him that no more will be asked.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  Of course it was not all. He was still being too accommodating, too calm. ‘And you will return all the money you extorted.’ Henry’s jaw dropped. ‘Just how much did you receive, Henry? How much did you demand from Baybrook every month?’

  ‘Two hundred,’ he snapped.

  ‘Two hundred pounds? Two thousand four hundred a year. My goodness, that was ambitious, Henry.’

  ‘He can afford it. And it is guineas, not pounds.’ He smirked, obviously counting the golden treasure in his mind.

  ‘Two thousand five hundred and twenty pounds,’ she amended. ‘A mistake to gloat about the guineas. That’s an additional one hundred and twenty you are going to give me.’ Could she convince him his only hope was to give her the money, or would he call her bluff?

  ‘Give you the money? Are you insane? Why should I do a damn fool thing like that?’

  ‘Because I’ll see you in gaol if you don’t, brother dear. My child, my fear and danger, my near disgrace. I think I have earned it, don’t you?’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Grant held the hired hack to a controlled canter as he entered the village of Hawkwell. He had made good time, leaving London by post-chaise for Rayleigh as soon as Martin’s assistant returned. Kate might have had a fast passage by the steamer, but he would be close on her heels.

  ‘I couldn’t do as much as I’d like, sir,’ the man had explained, passing the notes across. ‘But there’s the address. In Rayleigh he’s run up a fair amount of debt and they say he’s a spendthrift on his own pleasures. His wife doesn’t spend much at the local dressmaker or milliner, though. They think he keeps her on a pretty tight string and there are rumours he’s not above knocking her around when he’s in his cups. He also has a bit of a reputation for gambling—cock fights, the local card school, that sort of thing. The merchants I spoke to didn’t have much of an opinion of him as a landowner. They say he leaves it all to his bailiff and he doesn’t pay enough to get a man of the right calibre to do that wisely. I’ve made a note of the major debtors, sir.’

  Now Grant drew rein in front of the church lychgate as a thin man in a clerical collar and bands came out and closed it with care behind him.

  ‘Good day, Reverend.’

  ‘Good day, sir.’ He smiled up at Grant. ‘Have to take care or we get straying sheep in the churchyard and the silly creatures poison themselves on the yew. One could wish the Good Lord had given such useful animals more intelligence, but one cannot question His ways. May I assist you in any way, sir?’

  ‘I am looking for Sir Henry Harding’s house. Belchamps Hall, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Was it his imagination or did the vicar’s smile become less genuine? ‘You have the right road. Just continue through past the green, take the second on the left and it is rather under a mile.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Grant touched his whip to his hat brim and urged the hack into a trot. So, debts, a reputation for gambling and not the vicar’s favourite member of his flock. If Sir Henry was a churchgoer at all.

  *

  The clergyman’s directions were accurate. Grant came alongside a high brick wall at about three-quarters of a mile from the village and then slowed as he saw a hired vehicle standing on the driveway. A postilion was perched on a low wall smoking a clay pipe and, clearly visible through the window of the vehicle, was the face of his own footman.

  ‘Giles.’

  ‘My lord!’ The footman threw the carriage door open.

  ‘Is her ladyship inside?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. She went in three-quarters of an hour ago. My lord—’

  Grant swung down from the horse, tossed Giles the reins and strode up to the front door, leaving the footman mid-sentence. He had his hand raised to the knocker when instinct stopped him. Better to scout the ground before blundering in. Something strange was going on with Kate and her brother and he would rather discover what it was without it being filtered through whatever barriers they chose to erect.

  The house was very quiet. Grant glanced into windows as he trod softly around the moss-covered path that skirted the walls. In one room a lady sat, head bent over some sewing, but she was no one he recognised. He rounded the corner to find himself on a flagstone terrace overlooking a bleak, level garden. Halfway along a glazed door stood ajar and, feeling a touch melodramatic, he walked cautiously up to it. Voices came clearly from the room inside.

  ‘Just how much did you receive, Henry?’ That was Kate’s voice. Grant edged closer. She sounded very calm, very cool and strangely dangerous. He was grappling with that when she added, ‘How much did you demand from Baybrook every month?’

  Blackmail? That had to be what they were discussing.

  ‘Two hundred,’ a man snapped. And that must be her brother, Henry.

  ‘Two hundred pounds? Two thousand four hundred a year. My goodness, that was ambitious, Henry.’

  Kate sounded not at all shocked. In fact, from her question, she had obviously expected to hear that money was being extorted. A faint hope that she was talking about money for the support of her child faded. That sum was way in excess of what might be expected to provide for a by-blow. Not that he’d ever had to do the sums himself… Grant jerked his attention
back to the voices in the room.

  ‘And it is guineas, not pounds.’

  ‘Two thousand five hundred and twenty pounds. A mistake to gloat about the guineas. That’s an additional one hundred and twenty you are going to give me.’

  Nausea gripped his gut. Kate wanted the blackmail money, was demanding it in a hard, cold voice that belonged to another woman, not the one he’d married. Not his Kate.

  ‘Give you the money?’ her brother protested. ‘Are you insane? Why should I do a damn fool thing like that?’

  ‘Because I’ll see you in gaol if you don’t, brother dear. My child, my fear and danger, my near disgrace. I think I have earned it, don’t you?’

  Grant reached for the door handle, his vision blurred by a haze of anger and betrayal. Kate, his Kate. He would never have believed that the woman he trusted with his life and his honour would turn into this hard-voiced, grasping witch.

  Never have believed it. He jerked his hand back so hard his knuckles hit the rough surface of the brick, the pain like a dash of icy water in the face. Trust. If he abandoned her at this first test of his feelings, what did that make of their marriage but a hollow sham? This was Kate. Yes, she had not told him that Baybrook was Anna’s father. Yes, she had not told him why she had come to Essex. But there could well be reasons as painful and as difficult to talk about as his feelings about Madeleine had been. He owed Kate his faith and, if things really were bad, his understanding and forgiveness. He had to get her to trust him to give her that and he could begin by not leaving her to fight this dragon alone.

  *

  Henry was spluttering now. ‘Where the devil do you think I am going to get that money from? I have spent most of it.’

  ‘Well, unspend it, Henry. Sell things, borrow, pawn. I want a banker’s draft for every shilling.’

  ‘Or what? All right, I agree that I’ll write to Baybrook, tell him his debt’s paid. But you can’t get the money out of me, and if you utter any more threats, I’ll just have to keep you here until you see reason.’